


Know Your Quarry

by kittenofdoomage



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Angst, Drama, F/M, Fluff, Hunting, Kidnapping, Murder, Smut, Sorta Canon, Torture, Violence, fbi!reader
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-01
Updated: 2019-06-02
Packaged: 2020-04-06 01:39:33
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 9,835
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19052662
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kittenofdoomage/pseuds/kittenofdoomage
Summary: The case was cold until it was on fire and she's the plucky FBI agent determined to track down and capture the Winchesters, once and for all. Set S7 and then S8.





	1. Chapter 1

_ F.B.I. Headquarters, Washington D.C, 2008 _

Y/N stared at the report in her hands. Nothing about it was adding up; three agents, numerous civilians and local law enforcement, all dead. She’d been training with Henricksen long enough that her instincts were picking up something that wasn’t quite right.

How the hell did an entire precinct explode?

And why was it, the Winchesters were always at the center of the odd occurrences?

Victor had known something was different about this case. He’d known and now he was dead. She had to figure it out, find out what had killed him - the gas main explosion was not convincing her and the report that the Winchesters had died in a helicopter crash?

Nothing made sense.

“Agent Y/L/N,” her name was barked by the new head of the unit, Agent Stephens. She was a tough, no-shit officer, fresh out of military command and apparently, her sense of humor had gotten lost along the way. “Don’t you have work to be doing?”

Y/N had to chance it. Had to follow her gut. Stephens approached, looking down at the file in the younger woman’s hand.

“That case is closed, Y/N,” she said softly, an unusual tone that made you blink. “I know Henricksen and Reidy were friends of yours -”

“It doesn’t make sense,” Y/N muttered bitterly. “Nothing feels right.”

“Nevertheless,” Agent Stephens continued, taking the seat opposite her, “the case is closed. We have other matters to worry about than two dead fugitives and a tragic accident.”

“What if it wasn’t an accident?”

The older woman’s features hardened back into her usual stern mask. “Losing people is hard, Y/N. But you have to move on.” She took the file from Y/N’s slack grip and offered her a stiff smile. “Otherwise, you get stuck.”

*****

_ Y/N’s apartment, Washington D.C, September 2011 _

Rolling over in bed, Y/N hit the snooze button before realizing it wasn’t her alarm going off. Her phone was ringing, the petulant sound making her scowl as she grabbed it, checking the time on the clock. “Three am?” she grunted, answering the call. “Who the hell -”

“ _ It’s Paul _ ,” the caller greeted and Y/N sat up, rubbing the heel of her palm against her eyes in an effort to wake up. “ _ Sorry I’m calling so late, I just needed to talk _ .”

“Shit, Paul,” Y/N growled, “you can’t keep doing this.”

“ _ I know, I know _ .”

“I’m not your therapist. We’re over. You don’t get to make these 3am calls anymore.” Y/N sighed when he didn’t say anything. “Look, I’ve gotta be up early. Get some help, Paul.” She hung up the call, groaning at the dozens of text messages. “That restraining order might not be such a bad idea,” she muttered, slinging her legs over the side of the bed, the need to pee forcing her from her warm covers.

Her phone rang again in the other room as she dropped her ass onto the toilet seat and Y/N rolled her eyes, making a note to change her phone number. Again. Paul’s stalkerish ways were going to get him shot at this rate.

At least he’d stopped turning up at her apartment after she put a gun in his face.

Y/N didn’t even know how it had gotten this far. He’d seemed so sweet, so charming - and he turned out to be a psycho. 

Finishing up, she flushed the toilet, cringing at the ridiculously loud sound in the quiet of the night. There was no way in hell she’d get back to sleep now, so she grabbed her phone and blocked Paul’s third attempt to call, putting her phone on silent.

He stopped after the fourth and Y/N sighed, making herself a coffee as she stared out of her apartment kitchen window. Mrs. Fields was already walking her evil little Pomeranian, Charlie, who’d attempted to attack Y/N’s ankles more times than she could count.

Settling herself at her computer once her coffee was done, Y/N clicked through her emails, yawning widely. There was mostly junk, updates to subscriptions services, a notification for the new series of Grey’s Anatomy starting soon -

And an email entitled  _ ‘urgent’ _ from an agent stationed in Jericho, CA.

Y/N opened it, frowning as she scanned the message, scrolling down to see CCTV footage, stills that showed faces she’d been told were dead time and time again.

Sam and Dean Winchester.

Her eyes went wide and she grabbed for her phone, firing off a text to her partner, Louise. The cold case that had been haunting her for three years was now wide open again and this time…

This time, the Winchesters wouldn’t get away.

*****

“Dammit!”

Her screech bounced off of the walls, shortly followed by her phone smashing against the desk. Y/N looked up, panting heavily as her partner watched her warily. Running her fingers through her hair, Y/N growled under her breath, stalking toward the door.

“You wanna tell me what that was about?”

“Stephens declined. Said it was a wild goose chase on a copycat.”

“But the photos -” Louise flinched as the other woman slammed the office door shut. “She thinks they’re fake?”

Sighing, Y/N turned to her friend, shaking her head. “She thinks it’s a local police issue. Doesn’t believe that it’s worth our time and resources.” Louise stared at her, surprised. “Photos don’t prove anything these days,” Y/N muttered.

“What do you think they’re gonna do?”

“No clue. These guys are unpredictable and dangerous.” Y/N tapped her finger against her thigh, frowning. “They’ve faked their deaths on more than one occasion and somehow got Victor to do it for them. He was a good agent. He wouldn’t have done that without a good reason.”

Louise folded her arms across her chest, regarding her partner closely. “And what are you gonna do?”

“Officially?” Y/N asked and Louise nodded. “I’m going to take that leave I’ve been stacking up.”

“Y/N, you can’t go after them on your own.”

“I have to.”

“Y/N -”

“No!” Y/N snapped, advancing on Louise, who stood her ground, glaring back. “I’ve studied these guys for years, Lou. No one believed me. People are dying.”

“You won't’ have backup. It’s too dangerous.”

Y/N knew that - she also knew that she couldn’t sit back and watch the bodies pile up. “I’ve been in worse places,” she grunted, turning away. “Do yourself a favor, Lou. Don’t worry about me.”

*****

_ Ankeny, Iowa, October 2011 _

Everything had gone wrong so quickly.

After tracking the Winchesters through their previous exploits, Y/N had beaten them to Iowa but her interest in the case hadn’t gone unnoticed by someone. Despite taking vacation time, her actions were tracked and monitored - she didn’t realize until it was too late that her targets were not her targets at all.

Indiscriminate killings had never been their way. They were murderers, grave robbers, thieves… but Victor had found the pattern of strange occurrences surrounding each crime.

There was no pattern here aside from the one they were following from their history. These deaths were brutal and unexplainable, gun massacres that took more than one victim at a time. Y/N didn’t see it, her ambition making her blind to the facts.

And now, she was in ropes, bloodied and bruised and looking death in the face.

She hadn’t figured out why they hadn’t killed her yet.

Right now, she was alone, too tired to even lift her head. She sat slumped in the chair, the ropes holding her torso in place, blood slowly congealing on her skin from the wounds they’d inflicted. They’d left her in the house they’d commandeered - Y/N assumed the owners were dead, although she’d seen no bodies.

Whatever these things were… they weren’t the Winchesters.

They looked like them, sounded like them but there was something artificial and dead in their eyes. The way they talked about themselves in the third person - and then there was the torture. In all their criminal exploits, excessive torture wasn’t on their record.

Nor was eating people and they’d made conversation of that more than once.

Y/N had seen the tapes of Dean’s interviews, met witnesses that had spoken to them or encountered them, listened to the horror stories and hero stories alike. They were monsters but they weren’t that kind of monster.

Nothing was adding up.

The door to the house opened; Y/N lifted her head weakly, squinting through swollen eyes, expecting to see her tormentors return - instead, she saw another familiar face.

“Valente,” she rasped, almost sobbing in relief as her fellow agent scurried through the door, closing it and holstering his gun. “I don’t know where they are - they -”

“Sssh,” Valente rushed to her side, undoing her bindings. “It’s okay. They’re dead.”

“Dead?” Y/N shook her head in disbelief, pulling her hands into her chest as Valente freed her. “They can’t be. They’re…”

Valente stared at her, helping her to stand. “They’re what, Y/N?”

“Monsters,” she whispered, tears spilling down her cheeks, mixing with the blood. The other agent tilted his head, an eerie smile on his lips that made her stomach churn. “Valente?”

“Well,” he cooed, grasping her shoulders. “We’re all monsters sometimes.”

If she hadn’t seen it with her own two eyes, Y/N would have denied it. Valente’s mouth stretched to impossible lengths, rows of razor sharp teeth reminiscent of that  _ Tremors _ film her dad had liked when she was a kid. Whatever Valente was, he was strong and he was hungry.

Her training was the only thing that kept her from his jaws; Y/N launched herself backward, planting her feet against Valente’s body. The blow impacted at his groin and he yelled, his head snapping back to normal as he clutched his balls.

He was a monster but he was still a man, at the moment.

Y/N scrambled to her feet, pushing herself to run despite the pain. She barreled through the backdoor of the house, blindly running through the night. Valente’s roar echoed after her and Y/N sobbed as she ran, finding the main road and following it until her lungs burned and her legs ached.

Glancing behind her, she saw no sign of pursuit. Y/N hauled herself on, clutching her arms around her waist and ignoring stares from passersby at the state of her. There was a motel ahead,  _ her _ motel, where she’d paid for a few days in advance.

Her foot was aching - she’d caught the bare skin on something sharp. Blood made her footprints tacky and as she limped into the parking lot, she came to a stop, staring at the black classic car parked near to her room.

She knew that car. She had thousands of surveillance photos of that very same Chevrolet Impala.

And the two men that suddenly emerged from the motel room next to hers and headed for it.

They spotted her and Y/N’s stomach sank, the hours of agony coming back to her, still fresh, still  _ bleeding _ . Her legs gave out just as Sam pointed at her; she collapsed, giving in to the end if this was it.

“Hey, hey,” Sam was there in a second, scooping her up, “I got you.”

Dean blinked at his brother’s reaction to the wounded woman, picking up the duffel bag Sam had discarded. “Sam, we don’t have time for this.”

“She’s hurt, Dean,” Sam snapped back, cupping Y/N’s face, trying to get her to look at him. Dehydration and lack of food was taking its toll, and then there was the blood loss to consider. “She needs a hospital.”

“You realize we’re dead, right?” Dean drawled, shaking his head. “We can’t just waltz back into town -”

Sam was already on his feet, carrying Y/N to the car. As he passed his brother, Dean reached out, snagging the wallet that was half-falling out of her back pocket, his face draining of color when he saw the badge inside.

“Sam, stop,” he ordered; Sam turned with a frown, his eyes going wide when he saw the gold badge and FBI identification staring back at him. “She’s a fed. We can’t -”

A window next to them exploded, the gunshot barely a second ahead. Both men dropped, Sam’s body sheltering Y/N as she screamed, spotting Valente storming across the parking lot. Dean cursed, fumbling for his gun, just as Valente reached them.

“Three birds,” the fake agent snarled, grabbing Dean by the collar and lifting him off the ground, “one meal.”

His head split open, revealing the rows of angry teeth and Y/N shrieked, grabbing Sam’s gun from the holster inside his jacket. She fired off three rounds into the creature’s face, forcing it backward but by no means stopping it. It gave Sam a window to attack, dragging his machete out of his bag by Dean’s feet, sweeping it in an arch as he got to his feet.

The thing’s head dropped to the floor with a squelch and Y/N screamed again, finally giving in to unconsciousness.

Both brothers panted heavily as Dean glared at Sam. “That… not helpful,” he grunted, watching the Leviathan’s body start to twitch. “We need to get gone.”

“What about her?” Sam asked. “She’s been tortured, Dean.”

“Not our problem,” Dean dismissed, getting up and grabbing the Leviathan’s head, walking around to the trunk of the Impala. He popped it open, tossing the head into the bag containing his doppelganger and Sam’s, cringing when his own dead face stared back at him. “I am done with this Freaky Friday shit, Sam.”

Sam was still on the ground, kneeling over Y/N with concern on his face, her ID in his hand. “Her name’s Y/N.”

“I don’t care.”

Huffing, Sam checked her over, frowning at her injuries. “I don’t think any of these are life-threatening.”

“Then she’ll be fine if we just leave her,” Dean shrugged, slamming the trunk shut. “Sam, she’s a fed. We can’t go around kidnapping FBI agents, especially when we’re supposed to be six feet under!” He stared his brother down and Sam sighed, pushing hair out of Y/N’s face. She was breathing steadily and would probably be okay if she got help soon.

“At least let me call the cops,” he muttered, “so she doesn’t die waiting for someone to come along.”

“Whatever,” Dean spat. “Get in the car.”

*****

_ F.B.I Headquarters, Washington D.C, February 2012 _

The scar on her hand was itchy. Y/N knew it was because she was nervous, although she knew the likely outcome of the meeting with Deputy Assistant Director Collins. She wouldn’t be cleared for duty; her experience had opened her eyes to a world of truth the F.B.I would deny at every turn.

She believed in monsters and they were telling her she was crazy.

The Winchesters were dead and Agent Valente was a victim of their rampage. Y/N was confused, hallucinating from being held captive for days; the Winchesters had drugged her and tortured her. Everything she swore she’d seen was just a product of what they’d done. 

In the months since she’d woken up in a hospital in Iowa, she’d lost everything. 

Her career was the final nail in the coffin of her life.

“Y/N?” Agent Stephens appeared at the door to the D.A.D’s office, smiling softly at the younger woman. Y/N sighed, getting to her feet, ready to face the music. “You could undo this,” Stephens pleaded, blocking her entrance to the office. “You could just tell them you accept it was all a hallucination, Y/N. Save your career.”

Y/N fixed her with a cold stare. “I’m not gonna lie. I wasn’t drugged. I know what I saw.”

The other agent shook her head sadly. “Sticking to your principles is going to lose you everything, you know that right?”

Shrugging, Y/N slipped past her. “At least I’ll do it with integrity.”

*****

_ Chicago, Illinois, September 2012 _

The outskirts of the city’s industrial district was mostly run down factories and warehouses - perfect haunting spots for vampires as Y/N had discovered. Since her dismissal from the the bureau (which had included a nice payoff for her silence), her life had been consumed by the creatures that society and logic always dictated were non-existent.

Two months and endless time to research had led her here. Her first hunt.

It felt like a hunt. Y/N kept as quiet as possible, the machete in her hand heavy. The internet was a pool of information that provided everything she needed to know about hunters, about monsters. It was overwhelming and liberating in one hit.

She’d wasted all her life chasing criminals when she could have been destroying  _ real _ evil.

Her nerves increased as she neared the side of the factory she’d tracked the vampires to, lights inside giving away their presence. Laughter and cheering was accompanied by the whimpers of their victims and Y/N swallowed hard, worried they’d hear her heart thumping it was so loud in her ears.

Later, she’d struggle to remember the details. The vampires were fast, stronger than she expected. She was lucky to be alive to nurse her wounds in a cheap motel room and the thought of pursuing this line of work was becoming a little more daunting.

But she’d done it.

Y/N had killed five vampires, all on her own, and she’d saved people.

That alone, was worth it.

*****

_ Smallston, Montana, November 2012 _

Finding other hunters became easy when she’d really gotten into it, utilizing her training from the F.B.I to track down people she suspected. The bar in Montana was run down on the outside but the inside was a haven for those who sought evil.

The bouncer asked her how to kill a Wendigo and Y/N knew the answer. She hadn’t actually faced one yet, she kinda hoped she never did but knowing the information seemed pertinent and as it turned out, handy.

Ordering a beer, Y/N slipped into a seat at the bar, looking around warily. The occupants of the establishment were mostly men, mostly older men, all of them giving her a cursory once over before going back to their hushed conversations.

“You look like a rookie,” the bartender commented, his smile friendly. Y/N smiled back nervously, shrugging.

“Been a long time since someone called me a rookie,” she quipped, wrapping her hand around her drink, “but I suppose in this line of work? Yeah.”

The bartender chuckled. “Well, this place is pretty hunter-exclusive. And considering most of them are functioning alcoholics -” Y/N wasn’t surprised at this piece of information; the things she’d seen already had taken her from wine straight to whiskey after her first hunt. “- business is booming.”

Fingering the label on her beer, Y/N employed all the tactics she’d learned getting information out of criminals. “Got any regulars? Like you said, I’m a rookie, and I’m kinda looking for some advice.”

“Oh?” He picked up a glass, cleaning it thoughtfully. “I mean, there’s the Millers. They’re local, usually spend their time keeping campers outta the darkest parts of the woods.” Chewing his bottom lip, he placed the glass on the bar. “But you’d be best off with Garth. The Millers are the sort that don’t think a woman should be doin’ the job.”

Y/N snorted at that. “Yeah, I’ll bet.” She took a swig of her beer, keeping her eyes on him. “This Garth guy - he trustworthy?”

“Garth?” The bartender laughed, shaking his head. “Garth is about as cuddly and cute as they come. Smart kid though. Trying his best t’fill Bobby Singer’s shoes and that ain’t an easy task.”

She’d heard that name before. He was a person of interest to the bureau but no one had ever made anything stick on him. “You got a number?”

Leaning down, the bartender picked up a small rectangle of card, tossing it over to her. “I ain’t never seen a hunter with business cards but hell, they’ve come in handy,” he pointed out as Y/N inspected the card. It was inscribed with a simple name - ‘ _ Garth Fitzgerald IV’ _ \- and a phone number. “Give him a call. I’m sure he’ll be more than happy to assist.”

*****

_ Lincoln, Nebraska, November 2012 _

Garth Fitzgerald IV was not the man she was expecting. He was tall, thin in a gangly way, with an oversized nose and cheery smile. His cheeks seemed to be constantly pink as if he was always embarrassed. But, he was friendly, and more importantly, he appeared to know a lot of shit that Y/N didn’t.

“So, you’ve done a few hunts on your own, huh?” he asked, leaning heavily on the table with one elbow. His burger sat in front of him, half-eaten - Y/N hadn’t had any kind of appetite after the constant driving to catch up with the hunter.

“A few. Couple vamps, a werewolf. A shifter in Boston, that was gross.” She pulled a face and Garth chuckled, snagging a single fry from his plate and chewing on it thoughtfully.

“Well, you’re in luck,” he said, grinning. “I’m just heading to Missouri for a hunt. Don’t know what it is just yet,” he leaned in, his eyes sparkling with excitement, “but that’s half the fun.”

Y/N didn’t know whether to take him seriously or not. Her eyes drifted to the battered old car he was driving, versus her newer model sedan. Garth seemed to pick up on her apprehension at his mode of transport.

“Y’all can follow me, if you want. I drive a little heavy on the stick,” he quipped, winking. “Sometimes it can intimidate the ladies.”

The groan she wanted to emit at his hopeless flirting was kept internal - just. Forcing a smile onto her face, Y/N nodded, gesturing to her empty coffee cup. “Ready when you are,” she insisted and Garth grinned, signaling the waitress for the check.

Hours later, Y/N followed Garth over the border into Missouri, heading for Kearney to investigate a murder. Some lady had gone crazy and murdered her old man, in a really grim manner - Y/N thought it looked more like a homicide but Garth had insisted it needed to be checked out.

She was finding it harder to have faith in the odd hunter’s actions. When they arrived in Kearney, Y/N booked into a separate room at the motel, putting as much distance between her and Garth as possible. He was a nice guy - possibly  _ too _ nice - and she liked her space.

“Hey,” Garth called, knocking on the door, “I’m heading up to the crime scene, you wanna tag along? I can show you the ropes.”

Y/N rolled her eyes, opening the door, already dressed in her actual suit from her previous career. She didn’t have a badge anymore; using her actual name seemed stupid but she was pretty good at playing agent when she used to be one. “What are you wearing?” she muttered, taking in his outfit.

“Texas Ranger,” he announced, holding his arms out with a grin.

“We’re not in Texas.”

“And? Fed suits just make me look like I’m at a funeral. This is much cooler.”

Pursing her lips, Y/N sighed, grabbing her phone and gun before following Garth out of the motel. They took her car this time, deciding it would look better, although explaining how an agent and a ranger ended up together might have been tough.

Thankfully, the locals were apparently used to odd law enforcement, or they didn’t say anything, and Y/N left Garth to deal with the people, poking around the property for any clues, aside from the giant puddle of blood from the corpse.

She heard the car before she saw it, the rumble of the engine filling her with dread and hope in one fell swoop. Looking out from the garage she’d been inspecting, she saw the Impala, the two familiar figures climbing out of the car in their Fed suits.

The doors of the classic beauty slammed shut audibly and Y/N kept herself out of sight as they approached the cop on duty. He directed them to Garth, who was talking to one of the witnesses, the deceased’s son.

Y/N couldn’t hear anything they were saying; she remained in the garage as they walked a little closer, Garth’s gesture toward her making her groan. He took a call just as the Winchesters looked at her, clearly recognizing the F.B.I agent they’d left injured on a motel parking lot floor over a year ago.

Garth finished his call, grinning at the brothers.

“What are you doing?” Dean stuttered, his cheeks puffing out with his disapproval.

“My job, hombre,” Garth replied cheerily, shrugging as if it was no big deal.

His response made Dean fluster even more, his eyes darting between Y/N and the younger man.

“Your job?”

Garth shrugged again, getting a little offended with Dean’s reaction. “Yeah.”

“And since when is giving advice your job?” Dean demanded, looking over at Y/N who continued to hang back. “And since when do we have  _ actual _ Feds workin’ the case?”

Sam tapped his brother’s shoulder, narrowing his eyes at Garth. “Hold up. Are you the new Bobby?”

That comment made Dean’s face twist into a similar expression to one Y/N had seen on her grandmother’s face once. It was right after her mom’s pet Bichon Frise had pooped on the prize-winning orchid planted in the front yard.

“You shut your mouth.”

“Yes,” Garth affirmed.

“You shut your mouth!” Dean quickly turned dramatically, scoffing at Garth’s irritated glare. “What?”

“Bobby was gone,” he pointed out. “You two were MIA. It was a weird time. Somebody had to step in and take up the slack. All right. Let's just get back to work, and we'll talk about this later, all right?” Y/N couldn’t help but smile when he turned away, back to the witness, leaving Dean staring after him in shock.

“Did Garth just tell us what to do?”

Sam shrugged, looking over at Y/N, tilting his head. “You’re here with Garth?”

“Yeah,” Y/N admitted, rubbing one hand against her shoulder. “He’s, er, showing me a few things. About hunting.”

Dean looked close to an aneurysm and he threw his hands up, stalking over toward Garth, who gave him a cursory glance. With a smile in her direction, Sam followed, with Y/N on his heels. “Uh, Scott Lew. These gentlemen here are with the FBI. Mr. Lew's parents were the individuals involved in this... unfortunate situation.”

“Sorry for you loss,” Dean said stiffly, letting Sam take the lead.

Y/N didn’t interact, simply watching as the Winchesters did what they apparently did best. It didn’t seem much different to when she’d interviewed witnesses before but then, she never had to ask about strange smells or sounds. Scott Lew didn’t seem to know why they were asking either, wandering off when they’d gone through all their lines of questioning.

“Y/N?” Garth caught her attention as the young man wandered away. “Sorry, I haven’t introduced you. This is -”

“Sam and Dean WInchester,” she finished, folding her arms across her chest. “I know who they are. We’ve met.”

Dean’s eyes narrowed as Sam regarded her curiously. “Briefly,” he said, raising an eyebrow and Y/N smirked.

“You maybe. I spent several hours in the company of your black-gooey friends.” She dropped her arms, leaning one hand on her hip. “Funnily enough, telling my bosses that monsters were real? Didn’t work out so well.” 

Lifting his chin, Dean watched her, a frown dipping his brow. “You don’t seem to be a fan.”

“I worked with Victor Henriksen,” she replied coolly, feeling a small measure of satisfaction at Dean’s shocked expression. “We were chasing you for a long ass time until I got told to drop it. Guess I know why now.” Looking over at Garth, Y/N fixed a smile on her face. “I’m gonna go to the hospital and ask Mrs. Lew a few questions.”

Garth nodded, smiling at her. “Sure thing, I’ll catch a ride with these boys.”

Y/N turned on her heel, not bothering to give them another look as she heading for her car. Inside, her heart was racing, sweat making her palms clammy. She hadn’t realized how much seeing them would bring back old memories, even if it wasn’t actually them that had hurt her…

Their faces were still in her nightmares.

*****

“You’re leaving.” Garth’s voice made her look up from the trunk of her car. She smiled hesitantly, nodding as he crossed the parking lot. “Wanna tell me what’s got ya so spooked?” He leaned on the trunk, blocking her from closing it. “Is it the Winchesters?”

Y/N sighed, pinching the bridge of her nose. “Sort of. I mean… it wasn’t them. Not really.”

“Yeah, I heard about all that with the leviathans,” Garth mumbled, removing his hat to scratch his head. “Nasty sonsabitches.”

“That’s putting it lightly,” she replied quietly.

“But,” Garth continued, walking a little closer, “Sam and Dean aren’t monsters, Y/N. You’re holding them responsible for someone else’s actions.”

Looking at the contents of her trunk, Y/N closed her eyes, her shoulders slumped as she considered Garth’s words, remembering how she’d stumbled into all of this anyway. “You don’t need me on this case. The Winchesters won’t trust me because of what I used to be.” She lifted her gaze to Garth. “You’ve got my number, right?”

Garth frowned. “Yeah. You sure I can’t change your mind?”

Y/N shook  her head, giving him a small smile. “I’ve always been better off on my own,” she whispered, shrugging. “Just the way it is.”

*****

_ Maidstown, Kansas, January 2013 _

The rain hadn’t stopped for four hours. Y/N kept moving through the woods, hugging herself tightly, shivering as she tried to locate her way back to her car. Blood stained her jacket, her clothes soaked through and her teeth chattered violently.

She hadn’t stopped crying since she’d finally put a bullet through the werewolf’s heart.

But it had been too late to save the family it was preying on.

Her legs gave out in the thick mud; Y/N collapsed to her knees, hunching over as she sobbed. The rain only got harder and right there, in the dirt, she wanted to give up.

Flashlights scattered their beams over the trees and someone called out. The words were unintelligible through the sound of the rain but Y/N knew they were looking for her. She’d fired off one last text to Garth before her phone died and then she’d lost it in the fight.

“Y/N!”

Relief tried to overwhelm her but the grief was too much. Screaming into the ground, Y/N fell forward, letting unconsciousness take her.

It was the second time she’d come round in an unfamiliar place. 

“Hey,” a gruff voice said and Y/N sat upright, wincing as she realized just how hard the werewolf had been. Her wrist ached and she looked down at it, inspecting the deep purple bruising on her skin. “You really took a risk back there.”

Meeting Dean’s eyes, Y/N exhaled sharply through her nose. “Wasn’t worth it. I failed.”

“Werewolf looked pretty dead to me,” he pointed out.

“I didn’t save them,” she whispered, tears threatening to fall again. “I failed.”

Dean didn’t respond to that, watching her carefully as she checked herself over in a military fashion. They’d patched her up once they’d gotten her into some dry clothes but it was going to take a few days for her strength to come back.

“You had a concussion,” Dean muttered, getting to his feet and walking over to the bed, swiping a bottle of water stood on the nightstand. He offered it to her and Y/N took it silently. “Drink.”

Normally, she’d have bristled at the order but goddamn, she was thirsty as hell. Twisting the cap off, she took a few shallow sips before giving up on ceremony and drinking the entire thing. When she was done, she placed the bottle back on the nightstand and smiled gratefully.

“Thanks.”

“Welcome,” Dean mumbled back. “You should probably eat. I don’t know if we’ve got much, last grocery run was called on account of a damsel in distress.”

Y/N narrowed her eyes at him. “I never asked for your help.”

He chuckled, finding her snappy answer amusing. “You texted Garth. He was in New Jersey hunting a wraith. We happened to be the nearest there was.” Returning to his seat, Dean leaned forward, balancing his elbows on his knees. “I’m gonna assume you hadn’t lost anyone before.”

Her jaw tightened as she regarded him coolly. “No.”

“Yeah, well, it don’t get any easier.” He folded his arms across his chest as he leaned back. “Wanna tell me what a former F.B.I. agent is doing out hunting the real bad guys?”

“Spent half my life chasing criminals,” she shrugged, running her thumb over the bruise on her wrist, like the pain would ground her if she needed it, “found out there was worse evil out there. When I wouldn’t change my story to what they wanted, they let me go.”

“What  _ did _ happen to you?”

Her eyes were brimming with tears but her expression was defiant as she looked in him in the eye. “I was tortured. By a man with your face.”

Dean’s whole face clenched, the emotion indiscernible. “Leviathan.”

“Apparently.”

“I’m sorry.”

“It wasn’t your fault.”

Dean chewed his lip, wishing he could believe that. But they’d had a hand in it, at the very least, and it was just another drop in the ocean of his guilt. More collateral damage. “Feds wanted you to lie, huh?”

“Said I was drugged. Hallucinating. But I wasn’t imagining you cutting Agent Valente’s head off.”

“No,” he admitted. “I’m sorry we left you there.”

“No you’re not,” she replied stiffly, lifting her chin. “I was a burden. A civilian to you.”

“Still are, sweetheart.” His comment made her glare at him in shock and Dean got to his feet. “You’re better off turning your back on this. You had a life. Go back to it. Leave this to the professionals.”

He was almost at the door when she spoke again. “You don’t get to decide that,” she ground out, her uninjured hand fisting in the covers. “You don’t even know me.”

Dean smirked over his shoulder at her, shaking his head. “You’re gonna get yourself killed,” he warned; Y/N bared her teeth, almost snarling at his presumption. “Either way, you’re not going anywhere until you’re able to shoot straight.”


	2. Chapter 2

It took two days for her to finally feel up to walking around and when she got a look at the place they’d brought her to, Y/N was amazed. The bunker was a treasure trove of information and knowledge, packed with ancient weapons and a few things she thought she might have seen in the missing artifact reports at the bureau.

Dean avoided her. Any encounter ended with one of them of throwing insults, so Y/N made it her job to stay away from him as much as he stayed away from her. Sam was a little more welcoming, showing her a few books and talking to her about cases, despite his brother’s disapproval.

By the third day, Y/N was restless. Reading wasn’t keeping her entertained and she was feeling cramped up inside the overbearing building.

“You could go for a walk, you know,” Sam encouraged, looking up from his book of mythical and magical creatures. 

“Am I allowed?” she countered and Sam chuckled.

“You’re not a prisoner, Y/N.”

She sighed, poking at her wrist again. The bruises were fading but still painful, much like the decorative patterns of black and purple on her ribs. A sickly yellow was starting to tinge them in their stages of healing and she grimaced, meeting Sam’s gaze again.

“I just feel a little… cooped up,” she admitted. “After that hunt -”

Sam closed his book, giving her a sympathetic look. “You can’t think of it as failure,” he said quietly, confirming her suspicion that Dean had told him about their conversation. “That werewolf would have killed a lot more people if you hadn’t put it down.”

“A whole family died, Sam,” she whispered, closing her eyes, her shoulders dropping. “That’s on me. I wasn’t quick enough.”

He shook his head, smiling softly. “You know, for the fact you seem to hate each other, you and Dean are very similar.”

Y/N frowned at him, lifting her head as Dean entered the room, a beer in his hand. He paused when he saw her and she got to her feet, flashing Sam a fake smile. “You know, a walk sounds like a great idea.”

Dean didn’t say anything, watching her bolt from the room before looking at his brother. “Something I said?”

“She thinks you’re an asshole,” Sam muttered, opening his book again.

“She said that?”

“Not in as many words.”

Huffing through his nose, Dean dropped himself into Y/N’s previously occupied seat. “I haven’t even done anything.”

Sam raised an eyebrow, giving his brother a skeptical look. “Aside from telling her she’s not cut out to be a hunter, how she should go back to her normal life, and everything else negative?” Dean’s mouth set into a thin line. “I mean, you’ve been a ray of sunshine so far.”

“Now who’s an asshole?” Dean muttered, sulking into his beer. “And she shouldn’t be hunting. It’s dangerous.”

“Because we’re model citizens for not doing things that are dangerous and stupid,” Sam drawled, not bothering to look up from what he was reading. “Dean, why don’t you just admit you’re attracted to her and get it over with?”

“Get  _ what _ over with?”

The pointed look his younger brother aimed at him made Dean’s cheeks darken.

“That’s not what this is,” he defended and Sam chuckled, still not looking up. “It’s not.”

“Keep tellin’ yourself that.”

*****

Screams woke him and Dean’s eyes shot open, his blurry gaze fixing on the clock, vaguely registering the time. When the sound became clear, he was upright, grabbing his gun and sprinting out of his room, coming to a stop outside the room Y/N had taken for herself a week ago.

Sam’s bedroom door opened, his gun poking out before he did. “What’s going on?” he asked sleepily and Dean waved him off.

“Go back to bed,” he muttered, laying his gun on the ground before opening the door, ignoring his brother’s retreat. The wood creaked as it swung wide; Dean swallowed as he stepped in, scanning the darkness of the room. Reaching out, he flicked the light switch, turning on the wall lamps and bathing the room in a soft glow.

Y/N had tossed the sheets off. The yoga pants she’d gone to bed in were soaked through with sweat, her thin vest clinging to her curves, her nipples clearly visible through the fabric.

How hadn’t she woken up?

Another scream tore itself from her lips and she struck out at some unknown assailant. The action prompted Dean to move to her side, leaning over and gripping her shoulders. “Y/N!” he called, shaking her. She didn’t respond, whimpering as she thrashed against his hold. “Y/N!”

Her gasp as she woke echoed around the room, shortly followed by the crunch of Dean’s nose as her fist made contact. He cried out, clutching his face and falling back; Y/N covered her mouth in horror, realization sinking in.

“Oh god, Dean!”

Pulling his hand away, Dean was relieved when it was clean of blood. He’d broken his nose on more than one occasion and it wasn’t his favorite injury. Wiggling his nose, he got to his feet, offering her an amused smile.

“I’m so sorry,” Y/N whimpered, bottom lip sticking out.

“It’s fine,” he returned, smirking, “you got a crappy left hook.” The familiar distaste settled over her expression and she folded her arms - Dean changed the subject, deciding not to piss her off more. “That was a pretty intense dream you were having.”

“Nightmare,” she corrected, looking away. 

“Wanna talk about it?” Dean asked, sitting on the side of the bed with his body facing her, one leg tucked under the other.

“Not really.”

Uncomfortable silence fell over them. He could see tear tracks on her face and she was clearly still catching her breath. Her pulse was visible on the column of her throat and Dean’s mouth went dry as he imagined what her skin must taste like.

Shifting to cover his erection, he cleared his throat. “I know we got off on the wrong foot,” Y/N snorted at that comment, “and I still don’t think you should be hunting, but nightmares like that… I know what they’re like.”

She remained silent but she lifted her gaze to look at him. Dean smiled softly.

“I’ve had enough of my own to know.”

“What are yours about?” she asked suddenly before her cheeks darkened and she shrank back. “I’m sorry, that was really intrusive.”

Dean shook his head. “It’s okay,” he assured her, “I guess, I don’t talk about them much myself.” He moved to sit beside her, ignoring her nervous glance as he settled down against the headboard. “I think the worst one…” Pausing, Dean shut his eyes for a moment, earning a curious look from Y/N. “Seeing Sam jump into the pit. Or getting stabbed in the back. Shot by Walt.” He sighed. “Lotta Sam dying.”

“You’re close with him,” she muttered, stating the obvious as Dean huffed a little laugh, opening his eyes again. “I never had that. My family weren’t close.” He turned his head to look at her, waiting for her to continue. A soft sigh left her lips as she folded her hands in her lap. “I keep seeing the little boy. The one I didn’t save.”

Dean’s features morphed into sympathy; Y/N couldn’t look at him. She squeezed her eyes shut tightly, trying not to cry. But even then, she could see the little boy’s face, eyes glassy and dead, blood spattering his pale skin.

“We can’t save everyone,” Dean whispered. “And it sucks. It really does. But we can’t carry the guilt with us.” He reached over, taking her hand. Y/N’s eyes snapped open in shock and she stared at him, unsure of the uncomfortable churning in her gut. “Otherwise… you end up dead.”

His fingers stroked over hers, making her shudder as she looked at him. “How do you move past it?”

Dean sighed, shaking his head with a wry grin on his face. “I’ll let you know when I figure it out.”

“Dean?”

“Yeah?”

“I don’t think I wanna sleep anymore.”

He watched her for a moment, an idea sparking in his head. His lips stretched into a genuine smile. “Get dressed. I’ve got an idea.”

*****

It was a clear night and the chill in the air made Y/N glad she’d wrapped up warm. Dean wound the windows down on his side to let a little air in as they coasted along the open road, the early hour leaving it deserted.

He didn’t have a destination in mind but it didn’t matter - she looked out of the windows at the bright starry sky, the moon hanging over the horizon with it face-like craters gazing over the earth. Dean reached forward, turning the music up a little and Y/N closed her eyes, enjoying the low sound of Pink Floyd drifting through the speakers.

“This was a good idea,” she confessed, glancing over at him with a smile.

Dean only smiled back, tapping his fingers on the wheel.

They drove in silence, going nowhere, enjoying the mixtape in the deck and the cool air flowing through the car. Occasionally, Dean would hum a few bars, sing the chorus, and although he wasn’t perfect, his voice was enough to make Y/N’s smile widen.

Eventually, he pulled the car up to the side of the road, driving her onto the verge and Y/N frowned, looking around at the wide open fields surrounding them.

“What are we doing?”

“When me and Sam were kids,” he started, turning the engine off, “we used to just sit out under the stars. Sometimes we’d spend the whole night just watchin’ ‘em.” He looked over at her, still smiling a little wistfully. “You’ve read all the files on us. What did they say about our childhood?”

“Not a lot,” she replied, shrugging. “You’re definitely not the men the F.B.I painted out to me.”

“We’re not?” Dean raised an eyebrow at her conclusion. “We’ve killed people, Y/N. We’ve gotten people killed - not intentionally, but it happens. A lot.” His tone turned sad and he clenched his fingers over his knees, sighing heavily. “We’ve stolen, lied, dug up graves -”

“And all for a good reason,” she interrupted. “Same reason I started doing it.”

“Why would you wanna be in this life?” he asked, the question asked on a note of curiosity, no malice within it. “I mean, you could have had normal. Criminals are a hell of a lot easier than monsters.”

Y/N looked down at her hands, rubbing them together. “You and I both know it’s humans that are the worst monsters. Werewolves, vampires, ghosts… it’s so much more… honorable.” Dean huffed out a laugh and she glanced up at him with a scowl. “What?”

“There’s no honor in dying alone,” Dean muttered, turning to face her a little. “You could have had a family.”

It was her turn to laugh and Dean’s eyebrows dipped into a frown. “Sorry,” she giggled, “but… there’s so much you don’t know about me. Like how lonely I was in D.C. The only date I’ve had in eight years turned out to be a stalker.” She lowered her head again. “And even he ran a mile when I started talking about monsters being real.”

“Eight years?” he repeated, looking a little shocked.

Y/N nodded with a sigh. “And as for family,” she whispered, “kids were never something I thought about. And when I did…” Lifting her shoulders in a shrug, she looked away out of the window and Dean’s mouth set into a thin line.

He knew when to stop poking.

“C’mon,” he urged, opening the door. Y/N watched him head round to the trunk, popping it open to grab something before closing it. By the time the Impala shook with the impact of the trunk shutting, Y/N was stood by the passenger door, staring at the bundle of blankets in his right arm and bottle of Jack in his left hand.

“Should you be drinking?”

“Wouldn’t be the first time I’ve slept the hangover off in the backseat,” he grinned. “Unless you wanna stay sober?”

“Fuck no,” she replied instantly, making him laugh. 

Spreading one blanket over the hood of the car, Dean patted it, motioning for her to jump up. The metal underneath was still warm, providing a pleasant glow of heat under her butt and when Dean tugged the other blanket around her shoulder, she smiled at him in surprise.

He took the first swig of the bottle, leaning back against the windshield. The cold didn’t seem to bother him so much; Y/N wasn’t surprised with the amount of layers he appeared to wear.

“It’s a pretty good view out here,” he commented, his gaze on the stars. Offering the bottle, Dean smiled when she took it and drank a hefty mouthful, coughing as the liquid burned down her throat. “Good girl.”

Y/N shuddered with a smile, leaning back as she returned the whiskey. Looking up at the sky, she sighed, agreeing internally with the “good view” judgement.

Neither of them spoke for a while. In the distance, a dog howled, and crickets chirped; Dean and Y/N passed the bottle back and forth until it was half-empty, and Y/N was feeling more than a little tipsy.

“Is this how you charm the girls, Dean?” Y/N joked, side-eyeing him. “Lure them out here in your classic car, ply them with alcohol and pretty scenes?”

“You got me,” he quipped back, a lazy smirk on his face.

Y/N giggled, shaking her head and tugging the blanket out from her shoulders, throwing over the both of them. “You look cold,” she whispered, moving into his side. Dean lifted his arm, letting her cuddle in, a satisfied smile stretching his lips.

“You want some more?” He offered the bottle again but she shook her head. Screwing the lid back on, Dean let it drop down into the grass, settling himself down with Y/N tucked into him. “I’m sorry, you know.”

“For what?” she breathed, her hand laying on his chest underneath the blanket.

“For leaving you in that parking lot,” he confessed. “For you losing your job. For you ending up in the life.” He sighed, running his hand over her shoulder - Y/N shuddered at his touch, despite the layers between them.

“It wasn’t your fault,” she replied. “You didn’t know me and I wasn’t in danger of dying. You saved me from Valente. “And from what I’ve heard, you and your brother are heroes.” Dean snorted and Y/N pushed up, frowning down at him. “I mean it. When I’ve met other hunters… half the shit they tell me can’t be true.”

Dean’s eyebrows wiggled in amusement. “You’d be surprised.”

“You’ve died and come back to life?”

He stuck his bottom lip out, contemplating the answer. “A few times.”

“And Sam was possessed by the devil.”

“Yeah,” he hissed, “that wasn’t a good year.”

“One hunter,” Y/N mused, “told me that angels were real. Like… really real?” Dean nodded and Y/N blinked, unsure how to process that. “So God…”

“No definitive,” Dean muttered. “Never seen the guy in person.”

“Wow,” she whispered. For a moment she was silent before she piped up again. “And there are really books about you?”

Dean’s eyes widened a fraction. “No. That’s one of those, er, rumors. Just ignore that one.” Y/N narrowed her eyes, not believing his answer. He smiled awkwardly, the expression almost adorable with his face bathed in moonlight.

From this angle, he looked so handsome; she didn’t even notice she was moving until she did, leaning over to softly press her lips to his.

She wasn’t expecting him to kiss back.

His hand touched her cheek, sliding up through her hair and Y/N moaned into his mouth, shifting her body a little closer. Dean broke the kiss to grab a breath before he was kissing her again, licking into her mouth to taste her.

“Is this the whiskey?” she whimpered, pulling back to look at him.

“Does it matter?” he asked and she shrugged. “I like you, Y/N. I know I’ve been a jerk but…”

“You aren’t so bad,” she conceded, a little smile on her face. “Besides, you’re very nice to look at.” Dean chuckled, pulling her in for another kiss - Y/N shivered as the blanket slipped and Dean paused, his hand on her cheek again.

“You’re freezing. Let’s get in the car.”

“Backseat?”

He laughed again, sliding off the hood and offering his hand to her. “You’re eager.”

“Eight year dry spell,” she deadpanned, making him smile again. Gathering up the blankets, Y/N waited for Dean to grab the whiskey, letting him take the lead. He opened the backdoor, waiting for her to enter first, climbing in after her.

She arranged the blankets as he leaned over to turn the heat on, letting it warm the car slowly. Settling down beside her, Dean grinned when she pressed in close, her hands sliding over his shoulders.

“Where were we?”

The last time she’d made out in the back of a car was her senior year of college. It hadn’t ended so great that time but Y/N had a feeling that Dean was a little more experienced than Jonny Wilkinson from her psych class.

Dean slid his hands underneath her ass and dragged her into his lap, each kiss growing with intensity. His cock was hard as steel in his pants and Y/N ground down onto him, hotter than she’d been in years. Sweat prickled her skin and she shrugged her jacket off, tossing it onto the pile of blankets.

“You got anything with you?” she asked, pulling back as little and Dean nodded, reaching for his wallet. Pulling a foil packet free, he barely had time to register when Y/N snatched it from his fingers. “You mind if we skip the preliminaries?”

His expression was a mix of relief and disappointment - Y/N giggled, patting his cheek with her free hand.

“I’ll make it up to you later,” she promised, leaning to give him a lingering kiss, “in all the best ways. But right now -” Her hand slid lower, down his chest to the bulge in his pants. “I want you inside me.”

Dean groaned, resisting the urge to tip his head back as she squeezed him. “You sure about this?”

“Doesn’t have to be anything but two adults having a little fun,” Y/N muttered, sliding her hand inside his pants, the angle awkward and limiting her to stroking two fingers over his tip through his boxers. “Not if you don’t want it.”

He wanted it.

_ God _ , he wanted it so much.

But rash decisions under the influence of whiskey while in the backseat of his Baby had landed him in trouble before. That was a conversation for a sober morning.

Y/N was unbuckling his pants, tugging them down impatiently. His cock was at full mast, leaking steadily as she wrapped her fingers around him, stroking him from root to tip. She hummed in appreciation, giving him a coy little smile.

“Like what you see, huh?”

“Definitely,” she replied, kissing him again.

Dean grunted when she released him, scrambling off to remove her own pants. With her weight off his lap, he took the opportunity to push his pants down to his knees, stroking himself as he watched her shimmy out of her jeans and panties, returning herself to his lap.

When he dragged one of the blankets to wrap around her waist, Y/N giggled, kissing him as she fumbled to open the condom. She rolled it down over his cock, lifting herself to position him between her thighs.

“God,” she breathed, her nose smushed into his, “you’re big.”

“Thanks,” Dean chuckled, cupping her face. “Want a hand there?”

“I don’t know if you’re gonna fit.” The drunken admission made her giggle again and Dean snaked his hand between her legs, two fingers easily finding her soaked hole. Y/N whimpered as he teased her, sliding one digit into her, adding a second when she clenched and bit her lip.

Within seconds, she was riding his fingers, her hands bracing her weight on his shoulder. Dean knew he could get her off with little to no problem, she was so tightly wound, but Y/N had other ideas.

She pushed his hand away, replacing it with his cock, inching herself down onto him. Even with the condom, her heat was overwhelming and Dean groaned, dropping his head forward, burying it between her covered breasts.

He wanted her naked. Spread out on his bed like a feast for him and him only. He wanted to sink his face between her quivering thighs and lick her until the only word she could remember was his name. 

Dean wanted to possess her entirely and Y/N didn’t seem to be a completely unwilling participant.

The sound she made when he was fully sheathed inside her was filled with relief. She leaned forward, gasping against his mouth, demanding his attention as he tried not to blow his load from how goddamn tight she was.

“What do you want, princess?” he asked, his entire body trembling with need.

“I want you to fuck me,” Y/N whined, her hands on either side of his face. “Make me scream.”

Dean growled at that, wrapping one arm around her waist, burying his other hand in her hair to drag her into a brutal kiss. At the same time, he started to thrust up, bouncing her on his lap to meet each stroke of his hips.

Her head was dangerously close to the roof of the car. 

She didn’t seem to even notice as she came with a wild cry that Dean swallowed down, his own moans escaping against her lips.

Her thighs quivered as she came down and Dean slowed his pace, drawing her into deep, lazy kisses, burying himself as deep as he could. The tip of his cock kissed her cervix, the ache in her belly accompanying the slow contractions of her pussy, each one making his shaft twitch in anticipation.

“Your turn,” Y/N panted and Dean smirked, wrapping both arms around her this time, turning abruptly to bring her down onto her back against the leather. She gasped at the move, feeling him still throbbing inside her - this position was warmer, allowing him to control the pace.

The Impala rocked when he resumed thrusting, slower this time, each stroke deeper. Y/N was coming apart underneath him and Dean didn’t know how much longer he could hold on.

“Wanna feel you cum again,” he growled, burying his face in her throat, fucking into her harder, enough to make the slapping sound of their thighs echo around the car’s interior. Dean couldn’t hold off his own climax when Y/N started to cum again, her pussy milking him for all he had.

He spilled into the condom with a dull roar, still thrusting with each spurt of cum. Y/N threaded her fingers through his hair, tugging his head up so their lips met again, both of them riding out their respective orgasms.

They kissed as they remained entwined on the backseat, neither of them caring to move. Eventually, Dean began to soften and he withdrew, clearing up the mess and disposing of the condom. “I think I could sleep now,” Y/N whispered, yawning widely.

Dean laid down and she curled into him, sneaking one leg between his. He wrapped his arms around her, pulling the blankets over them both as much as he could, hoping it was enough to keep her warm.

“We’re gonna have to have a grown up conversation about this, aren’t we?” she asked and Dean chuckled, kissing her temple.

“I’m sure we’ll figure it out,” he promised. “Get some sleep, sweetheart.”


End file.
